


His Reward

by CannonCanon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adorable, Baby, F/M, Family, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, M/M, Reapers, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:09:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CannonCanon/pseuds/CannonCanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas said he was a gift, that he'd been fashioned from soul and grace and clay. Payment for a job well done from the only entity who could give such a gift. And a princely gift he was. From the moment Cas handed him the bundle, Dean had loved that little creature more than he loved any other person on the planet. His very own son.</p><p>They'd been very careful with him. Dean didn't curse in front of him, or let him watch R rated movies. He didn't tell him about the dark things he'd hunted with his own father. He didn't want him to be pulled into a life of darkness, pain, and death.</p><p>But death was what he was now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Reward

Dean felt the change in the air before he heard or saw anything. He put the knife down. The onion which had brought water to his eyes seconds before was forgotten, it rocked unsteadily on the cutting board the moment his hand left it. He stared at the tile beyond the sink steadily.

“I didn't think you'd be coming home today,” he said.

He heard a laugh. “And they say mothers have super hearing,” the voice said. The onion was forgotten and still Dean's eyes watered. He did not turn around. “I thought you'd be happy to see me. I haven't been home since Christmas. Where's Dad? Out running errands?”

“Uh, well,” Dean released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. “You know your father. Always out taking care of things for the big man.” He felt a hand on his shoulder, and finally he let himself turn around, to meet his reward.

He'd been such a little thing in the beginning, and he grew to be taller than either of them. They'd called him John Samuel Winchester. Dean thought he looked like Cas, or at least he looked like Jimmy. But Cas swore he looked exactly like Dean. Green eyes, blond hair. He had Cas's face, with his stubbly chin and his lips. He smiled the same awkward way Cas smiled.

He was a sweet baby, not a whiner or overly rambunctious. He was always on Dean's hip, and easily overtired. Dean remembered how baby John looked with his eyes droopy just before a nap. He made Dean's heart ache.

Cas said he was a gift, that he'd been fashioned from soul and grace and clay. Payment for a job well done from the only entity who could give such a gift. And a princely gift he was. From the moment Cas handed him the bundle, Dean had loved that little creature more than he loved any other person on the planet. His very own son.

They'd been very careful with him. Dean didn't curse in front of him, or let him watch R rated movies. He didn't tell him about the dark things he'd hunted with his own father. He didn't want him to be pulled into a life of darkness, pain, and death.

But death was what he was now. For all the hard work they'd put into making their baby happy, healthy, and good, he was still a nephilim. And when he realized what he was capable of some 20 years after he'd come into their lives, he'd vanished to find out what that meant for him. He'd been a gift from God, but he was a gift Dean could not keep.

Dean wrapped his arms around his son and buried his head in his shoulder. “I don't want to hear how work is going. Sit over there at the table and I'll make you a sandwich,” Dean said.

John complied, and Dean finished chopping the onion. “Help anyone famous lately?”

“I thought you said you didn't want to know how work was going,” John said.

Dean smirked and said, “Well, yeah, I don't. I mean, unless you reaped Elvis or something.”

“Not since the boxing champion,” John said.

When John called home to tell them about it, Dean had cut articles about the death out of the newspaper and put them up on the refrigerator. When Sam asked about the clippings, Dean had bragged proudly about his son pulling down a heavyweight champion, and Sam had looked at him strangely. But Dean didn't care, because his son was doing great things. Sam's son was a freshman in college.

John was never suppose to go into reaping, but since he did, he may as well be good at it. And it was safer work than hunting. Dean wanted John to live forever.

Dean plated the sandwich wordlessly, and cut the crusts off the bread without a thought. John smiled like he always did when Dean put the sandwich in front of him. Turkey, onion, pickles, mayo, and black olives, no crust. John liked his sandwiches a little more tart than Dean or Cas did.

Dean sat across from his son, his own sandwich could wait. “I worked on the car for a while this morning. Your dad had to leave early, so I didn't have much to do. Changed the breaks on the impala,” Dean said.

John nodded. “I knew you were never going to trade her in. Uncle Sam keeps teasing me that you bought a new car. He must think I'm stupid,” he said.

“You're right,” Dean said, “I love that car. It was your Grandpa's, and one day I'm going to leave it to you.”

John laughed. “I don't have much use for a car, Dad.”

“I know, I know, you've got wings. Who do you think vacuumed your feathers when you were little? It's a family heirloom. You just have to drive it every once in a while so it'll run. Keep it in parts. Treat it well, it'll treat you well. You might need it when you've got a hot date.”

“Dad!” John said, his face turning red.

“You think I didn't go out with girls before your Papa and I got serious?” Dean said. “I had a girl in every town, son. Shoot, you act like I don't even know what you get up to. I use to clean your room-”

“Oh my God, Dad, I don't want to talk about girls!” John said. He was as red as a beet. 

Dean knew John thought he was a real cool stud. He dressed like a hero out of one of those urban fantasy novels, all in black with a little silver cross around his neck. He probably picked up goth chicks at vampire clubs or something. Dean play punched him in the arm. “Your old man knows how it is. I didn't have a cool Dad like you do to talk about girls with,” Dean said.

The blush faded after a while, and then John said, “There is one girl.”

“Just one?” Dean said, “My little man has a girlfriend?”

“Dad,” John glared at Dean, but it was meaningless. John was big and scary to all those strangers who didn't know him, but he would always be sweet little baby John to Dean.

“You'll have to bring her by to meet us sometime. I'll make hamburgers and make your father fly out to that place in Louisiana that makes the fried apple pie we like. We could show her what a classy family you come from,” Dean said. “What's she like?”

“Well,” John said, “I met her at work.”

“Oh,” Dean said. “She's not a ghost or something, is she? I mean, you know I'm not going to judge you, because, you know, your father. But it might be kind of awkward, seeing as how we kill ghosts in this family.”

“No, no, no. Nothing like that. Well, I mean, she's a vampire, but-” John couldn't finish his sentence.

“Wait, wait, I didn't hear that last part right. You didn't say she was a vampire,” Dean said.

John could already tell this conversation wasn't going well. He knew it wouldn't.

“I came to tell you I'm getting married,” John said.

“To a vampire?” Dean said.

“Yes,” John replied.

Dean looked at the table. His mind was whirling around memories of John. The first time John's halo had shone, and how shocked Dean had been that he could see it without losing his eyes. John's first day at school. The first time John lost a tooth. The first time John flew on his own, and how he got stuck on the roof.

He remembered a few vampires he'd killed over the years, and how they tried to kill him. He remembered his brief stint as a vampire. He remembered Benny.

Thinking of Benny gave him some hesitation. So, he tried again. “What's she like?” Dean asked.

“She's from Vermont. She's funny. Her family is still alive. I met her in Maryland. She likes dancing. She was an interpreter in Washington before she changed. She speaks French and Spanish fluently. She's learning to speak Russian. She watches reruns of Doctor Sexy on Netflix.”

“Then we'll have something to talk about,” Dean said. “Tell her about us. Tell her about your uncle Sam and your old men. And if she's brave enough to come down here and get to know us, we'll give her a chance. But if she ever hurts you, we will definitely kill her.”

“Dad,” John gave him a serious look. “You know I can take care of myself.”

Dean conceded. “I know. I just want you to be safe. And I'm right in my thinking that you wouldn't get tangled up with evil vampires, right? That you wouldn't marry a girl that wasn't a vegetarian.” Benny had made Dean more liberal about his treatment of monsters. As long as they didn't hurt anyone, he didn't go after them.

“Absolutely,” John said.

“That's ma boy,” Dean replied. He wasn't terribly worried. Nephilim were harder to kill than angels. John was a lot stronger than Cas. It would take much more than a vampire to kill him.

It was at that moment that Cas came home, appearing suddenly in the kitchen.

“Hello, Dean. Hello, John,” Cas said.

John got up and gave his father a hug, which Cas returned with ease.

“John has some good news,” Dean said. “He's bringing his fiancee over to meet us soon.”

“Fiancee?” Cas said, “You didn't tell us about your girlfriend.”

“No, he didn't,” Dean said. “Your son is marrying a vampire.”

Castiel froze, briefly scandalized, but then he relaxed. “Why?” he asked.

“I'm in love with her,” John said, honestly.

“Oh,” Castiel said, and he accepted it at face value.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for my friends at Shippernatural as a response to the negative term "Deathstiel." I thought it would be fun to play with that idea, so I made Dean and Castiel a son who is a reaper.


End file.
